


Day 12: Take Your Shot

by ofplanet_earth



Series: 30 days of Barduil [12]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bard is a cheeky bastard, Bard plays dirty, Drinking Games, Figure Drawing Class AU, M/M, Muses, Thranduil is a tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:48:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thranduil learns a new game. Bard proceeds to play dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 12: Take Your Shot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LoveActuallyFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActuallyFan/gifts).



> LoveActuallyFan requested that Bard and Thranduil play a drinking game.  
> this one fits into the same universe as days 5 & 6 (Lines & Smudges). it's recommended that you read them first, but not strictly necessary.

“A game of what?” Thranduil sat in Bard's living room, on the old and lumpy futon that he called a couch. They’d just come from Bard’s second session of life drawing, where Thranduil had foregone any semblance of decency and Bard, distractible as he was, had been unable to focus on anything but Thranduil’s arse.

He’d broken several sticks of charcoal in the process and, unwittingly, Thranduil’s stoic mask. They'd been forced to take an early break while Thranduil composed himself, but not until he'd pinched Bard's bum on his way past him. 

“Beruit,” Bard said. “You know, Beer Pong? Don’t tell me you’ve never played.” Bard’s tone was teasing but Thranduil shot it straight back to him. 

“I spent my time at university focusing on my studies—“

“And modelling for figure drawing classes, apparently,” Bard chided.

“—Either way I was not playing drinking games in filthy dorm rooms.” 

“Ah, then you’ve missed out on half the fun!” Somehow, the thought of mingling with drunken college students and spilled drinks did not sound the least bit appealing. But Thranduil was willing to try this new game, seeing as it was only him and Bard. 

“Alright, let’s play. What are the rules?” 

“Do you think you can take me?” 

Thranduil smirked. “Are you so sure you’ll win?” 

“If you’ve never played before, I’d say my chances are high.” 

“Then I bow to your vast knowledge and experience.” Thranduil stood and bent dramatically at the waist, sweeping his arm out in a grand gesture. “Lead the way, Bowman.” Bard did, landing a swift smack on Thranduil’s arse as he crossed into the kitchen. He pulled a bag of plastic cups from the cupboard and a six pack from the fridge. 

Thranduil cringed. “We’ll be drinking beer?” 

“Aye. it’s the only way to play!” Bard pulled the chairs to stand against the wall and began to arrange ten cups on his side of the table. Thranduil stood at the opposite end and mimicked his actions. 

“Now,” Bard said as he filled each cup quarter of the way full with beer. “The rules are these: we each get two shots a turn. When I land a shot, you drink. When you land a shot I drink. The others, I’ll explain as we go.” 

“Alright,” Thranduil finished filling his cups and set the bottle aside. “How do we decide who goes first?” 

“We both shoot,” Bard retrieved two table tennis balls from a kitchen drawer— the same drawer where he kept the turkey baster and the potato peeler. Honestly, the man had no idea how to organize an apartment. “Look at me, not at the silverware.” 

“You’re joking,” Thranduil laughed. 

“I’m not!” Bard laughed. “These are the rules! We hold each other’s gaze, I count to three and we both throw. Whoever sinks it takes the first turn.” Bard’s eyes were mischievous and wide and they sent a thrill down Thranduil’s spine. “I tell you what,” Bard added, “If neither of us make it, I’ll be the gentleman and let you go first.” 

“So considerate,” Thranduil smirked. He locked eyes with Bard as he counted to three and they let the table tennis balls fly. “What happens now?” Thranduil looked at the cups in confusion; both of them had made their shots— Bard’s had made only slight splash in the centre cup while Thranduil’s had bounced off a plastic rim and into the back row. 

Bard gaped at him, as if he couldn’t believe Thranduil had made his shot. He shook his head. “We go again.” They did, only this time Bard missed. “You’re sure you’ve never played this before?” 

“Positive.” Thranduil smirked and held his hand out for the ball in Bard’s hand. Bard took a sip of the remaining beer in his bottle. “Is that wise, Bowman? I’ve surprised you once already; who’s to say you won’t lose this game?” 

Bard paused with the bottle half way to his lips. “Are you going to take advantage of me?”  
 “Of course,” Thranduil smiled as he made his first shot. It ricocheted off a rim, as it had before, only this time Bard smacked the ball from the air as it bounced. 

“Hey!” Thranduil cried. “That’s not fair!” 

“That is what we at Aberystwyth called a legal defence. Rule number two: whenever the ball bounces off the table or off a cup it can be caught, hit, or blown out of play.” 

“Blown out of play.” Thranduil deadpanned. 

“Aye.” 

“You’re making this up as you go.” 

“I am not!” Bard laughed. “These are the rules I play by; I suggest you do the same. Now, take your next shot.” Thranduil sighed and squared his shoulders, narrowing his sights on the foremost cup. He breathed deep and threw. 

It landed in the cup without even a sound. “I believe that’s a fair shot?” He smiled. 

Bard shook his head and retrieved the ball before lifting the cup to his lips. “Cheers,” He said, and downed it all in one go. Bard took his turn, effectively wiping the victorious smirk from Thranduil’s lips as he landed his first shot. Thranduil made a show of it— tipping his head back and exposing his neck; wiping the beer from his lips with his thumb before drawing it into his mouth. 

It had its intended effect: Bard missed his second shot. Thranduil went to retrieve the ball, bending to the floor with exaggerated movements that he _knew_ showed off the way his jeans stretched over his bum. When he turned around, Bard’s eyes were wide and his adam’s apple bobbed thickly. He pulled off his flannel as a flush rose to his cheeks. “Go on then,” His voice was deep and husky, and his cough did a poor job of hiding it. 

Thranduil sank both shots this time, and Bard chuckled none too nervously as Thranduil beamed. They continued this way until only two cups remained on either side of the table. Bard made his shot, though Thranduil tried valiantly to execute a _legal defence_ and knock the ball out of play. He downed the contents of the cup in the spirit of the game, grimacing at the bite of the beer— he wondered if a similar game existed, only with wine instead of lager. 

Bard shook his hands and squared himself for his next shot. Thranduil combed his hair over one shoulder and watched, stunned as the table tennis ball splashed into the final cup. “So that’s it? The game is over?” 

“Not quite.” Bard might have tried to keep the smirk from his face, but he failed spectacularly. He rounded the table, came to stand behind Thranduil and said, “You have your chance at redemption. You throw until you miss. If you get both shots in, we go into overtime. But if you miss even one, your game is forfeit.” 

“So as long as I make these two shots I haven’t lost?” 

“Not yet,” 

“Don’t be so sure of yourself, Bowman.” Thranduil retrieved the table tennis ball from his final cup and prepared to take his shot. Bard’s presence was like a furnace at his back as he stood straight and raised his arm. 

“You shouldn’t stand square to the table,” Bard’s voice was glottal and heavy, his breath warm against the base of Thranduil’s neck. “Here, like this.” His hands were soft at the waistband of Thranduil’s jeans, nudging and guiding him to angle himself so that he stared down the line of his arm at the waiting cups. It was no coincidence that Bard stood at the same angle, holding Thranduil against him with one hand lingering at his hip and the other climbing beneath his shirt.

“Any other tips?” 

“Mmm,” Bard hummed. “Bend your knees,” Bard’s knees knocked against the backs of his own, forcing Thranduil to mirror his stance. 

“Anything else?” Thranduil turned his head to stare down his target as Bard pressed his hips more firmly against Thranduil’s arse. He was half- hard already. 

“Take a deep breath and focus.” Thranduil did. He grew still even as Bard’s fingers traced patterns on the skin of his abs and over his jeans, where his cock twitched in interest. He made the shot with little effort. 

“Like that?” He smiled.

“Are you sure you’ve never played this game before?” 

Thranduil said nothing, only laughed and lined up his aim again. He breathed deeply as he drew his arm back. Just as he was about to let go, Bard’s lips found their way to the heated skin of his neck. Thranduil faltered, but he didn’t let go of the ball.   “Go on, take your shot.” Bard purred and moved up to the shell of Thranduil’s ear. He raised his arm again and set his sights on the final cup. He drew back. He threw. Just as Bard’s hand slid to palm his cock harshly. 

His eyes fell closed as a moan fell from his lips, overwhelmed by the feel of Bard’s teeth on his ear and his insistent hand making his knees go weak. He could feel Bard smile as the table tennis ball bounced onto the floor. Thranduil pressed his arse further back against Bard’s hips as payback and felt his answering moan tremble all throughout his body. 

“You cheated,” Thranduil gasped. “Illegal defence.” 

“These are the rules I play by,” Bard growled, “and your game is forfeit.” Thranduil couldn’t bring himself to care. It was a silly game of beer pong, after all, though Bard would most likely delight in holding this victory over his head. 

“And what will you claim as your prize?” Thranduil asked as he reached behind him, buried his hand in the hair at the base of his skull and clutched at Bard’s arse to grind their hips together again.

Hot breath ghosted over Thranduil’s ear as Bard chuckled. “I would have you, laid out before me, with only your shame to cover you.” 

Thranduil turned, ground their cocks together and latched his lips onto Bard’s. “You overstate my capacity for shame,” Thranduil gripped Bard’s hair again and pulled him closer. “I have none.” 

Bard moaned into his mouth, the bitter tang of lager clinging to his tongue as it pushed past Thranduil’s teeth. Bard broke their kiss with a hiss and a smack to his arse before pushing him bodily towards the bedroom.

**Author's Note:**

> you can still request a story! [submit a prompt](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll add it to the list!  
> I like to tag [inspiration](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/30-days-of-barduil) for the stories I write.  
> you can keep track of my word count on my [novel page](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/ofplanet-earth/novels/30-days-of-barduil) or on my [tumblr](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/nanowrimo).


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